Ronan carried her all the way back to the packhouse, refusing to let anyone else touch her—even though she kept insisting she could walk. His grip didn't loosen.
Not even once.
The glow on her mark had faded but not disappeared, clinging to her skin like moonlight trapped beneath the surface.
He set her down on the edge of his bed—his room dim, warm, and quiet. Not meant for alphas hosting crises.
Meant for him. And now, unmistakably, for her.
"Ronan…" she whispered as he crouched in front of her, running his hands gently over her arms, checking for burns or shadow residue. His movements were careful—too careful. Like she was glass.
"You scared me," he said finally, voice low. "More than anything ever has."
Her breath caught. Ronan didn't admit fear. Not to anyone.
She reached out, fingers brushing his jaw. The moment she touched him, he exhaled like he'd been holding that breath for centuries.
"I'm still here," she said softly.
His eyes flicked to hers—stormy, conflicted, hungry—and for a second she thought he might look away. Instead, he leaned in. Slowly. Hesitantly. Like she was something he wasn't sure he deserved to touch.
"Evelyn," he murmured, "if I kiss you right now… I won't be able to pretend anymore."
Her pulse jumped. "Then don't pretend."
Ronan froze.
Then he moved.
One hand cupped the back of her neck, the other settling on her waist as he pulled her toward him—careful but desperate, controlled but breaking. His forehead pressed to hers, his breath brushing her lips.
"You're sure?" he whispered.
She nodded. "I'm sure."
He kissed her.
Slow at first—a question, a confession, a surrender. Then deeper, firmer, like he'd been fighting the urge for far too long. She melted into him, fingers curling in his shirt, pulling him closer. Heat spread through her, but this time it wasn't shadow-born. It was him. Only him.
His thumb stroked her cheek.
Her mark warmed.
For the first time, it didn't feel frightening.
It felt… right.
Then—
The door opened.
"Alpha, we have a situ—oh."
Ash froze.
Completely froze.
Ronan didn't move. Evelyn didn't move. Ash blinked twice, his brain visibly lagging.
"Uh… I… didn't see anything," he said, staring very intently at the ceiling.
"Ash," Ronan growled.
"I SEE NOTHING," Ash said louder, already backing out of the room, tripping slightly over the doorframe. "In fact, I'm blind. Permanently. Goodbye."
The door slammed shut.
Silence.
Ronan's forehead dropped to Evelyn's shoulder as he exhaled a deep, murderous sigh.
"I am going to kill him," he muttered.
She laughed softly. "No you won't."
He lifted his head, eyes finally calmer. Warmer. "You're right. I'll just make him run night patrol alone for two weeks."
Her cheeks flushed, and Ronan's lips curved in a small, rare smile—the kind she'd learned he only gave her.
The tension returned, softer now. His hand came back to her waist.
"We'll pick up where we left off," he murmured.
"We will," she whispered back.
For a moment, the world outside their door—shadows, danger, ancient marks—didn't exist.
Just them.
Ronan brushed a final kiss against her forehead, grounding her, claiming her in a way that wasn't force or instinct.
A choice.
Then his expression shifted, serious again. "Rest. When you wake… we'll figure out what the shadows want from you."
She nodded, lying back on the bed.
He stayed beside her until her eyes drifted shut.
And even when she slept, he didn't move.
Because for tonight—just tonight—he refused to let anything take her from him.